20

Orlando Cortez

Dead. She’s dead. Inhaling, I closed my eyes. Martha Pennington, the only witness, was dead for three years. Despite what our legal team claimed, I didn’t think we stood a chance with the drunken video we had in hand. The man who sat across the table could be useful.

“Here’s your drink, sir.”

The waitress placed the tray of drinks on our table before leaving. I picked up the glass of water and sipped it, all the while eying the shaking male in front of me.

Andrew Pennington, Martha’s son and our only hope, grabbed the glass of whiskey, gulping it in one go. When Marcus tracked him to a rundown apartment at Vegas, where he lived by taking multiple jobs, I had him flown down here.

 The guy, now in his early forties, looked like shit. And I assumed his battered coat had seen worse. The bags under his eyes and the five-day beard proved my theory. He could use a d